Games
by lizoftheinfinite
Summary: The Other Mother wins, at first. But there are always more games to be had.
1. Chapter 1

And then the hand closes around her ankle, dragging her back into the dissolving Other World.

She screams and grabs at the doorway, fingernails breaking on the frame. The marbles roll out of her pocket and a long, spidery hand swoops down and picks them up. The Other Mother rolls them around in her palm for a few seconds, taunting, and places them in the pocket of her blouse.

Coraline leaps to her feet, grabbing frantically for freedom, but the Other Mother wraps a long pincher-arm around her waist and pulls her close. Globs of black blood roll down her face. She isn't even trying to smile anymore.

"That was a very naughty thing you did just then, Coraline."

There's another sob in Coraline's throat, but again, she manages not to cry. She keeps struggling, keeps fighting, but at the same time she half-collapses with exhaustion and the sheer unfairness of it all.

This close, the Other Mother smells like rot, like something that's been left in a corner somewhere for too long. Her grip feels like wire, tight enough to hurt. With her other hand, she steals the key back from Coraline and shuts the door.

Locking it.

Sealing them into this world, this world that is graying at the edges and only just barely real.

Coraline is alone.

"You didn't play fair," she whispers. She clutches the snow globe in both hands, hugging it to her chest, even as the Other Mother drags her from the last real bits of this world and into the darkening gray beyond. The cat's body disappears with the flooring and carpet. There's so much gray starts to hurt her eyes.

"You promised. I found them all. I found them all!" She starts to fight again, but the Other Mother's grip on her stays strong.

There is no answer to this, of course, because the Other Mother was lying and they both know it and it's _so _unfair and she wants to cry but she doesn't. She kicks out, but it does nothing against the dark gray. The Other Mother, bone and warping flesh, is the only solid.

She twists her head around as she tries to struggle free, and sees orange and brown up ahead. A hint of floor. A patch of realness. The kitchen table with that pink and white box sitting innocently at the head.

"NO!"

She pushes and shoves and grabs at the Other Mother's fingers, trying to hurt her, trying to make her let go, _make it stop_, but it does nothing and she's trapped and useless_helpless _and she's crying for real now, nothing but hysterics as she breaks open in a mess of ugly fear.

"You killed them," she sobs out as the Other Mother sets her down in the single chair. "You killed the cat and you killed those kids and you're going to kill me, too-"

"I would never do anything to hurt you, C_o_raline," the Other Mother says as she picks up the box and opens it to reveal the needle and buttons. "Even when you infuriate me with your disobedience." She has black hollows for eyes, nothing more, but Coraline can feel them watching her, examining her pupils.

The chair warps underneath her, metal ropes twisting from the arm to tie her wrists to the chair. She throws her weight around, bucking, anything to get herself free, but the chair holds tight and she is trapped.

The Other Mother approaches her with the needle. "Hold still, and this won't hurt a bit."

"Don't touch me!" Coraline cries. "Please!" She reaches for any of her pride or bravery but it vanished with the shutting door and the cat's still body. All she has left is the fear and the snow globe in her lap. "Please!" she tries again. Her breath comes in hiccupy gasps, short enough to make her head spin, but she can't stop it, can't focus, can't get a grip, _get a grip, Coraline, _but she's too goddamn scared. Too sick with the sight of the shiny black needle as the Other Mother approaches her. She screams incoherently, any words she can form.

"I will make good on my word if you make good on yours. We'll have lots of fun, you and your other father and I-"

"YOU KILLED HIM, TOO, YOU KILLED ALL OF THEM-"

"The three of us will plant the most beautiful garden again, and we'll have rats to ride around like horses and take us flying, and toys to entertain forever, and it'll be whatever you want, Coraline, you'll have whatever you could ever want."

Coraline slumps forward, her hair falling into her eyes, staring down at the snow globe. The flakes are swirling around, obscuring the figures.

"I want my parents," she mumbles. "I want my mother."

The Other Mother takes the globe from her, and examine it with her hollow-eyes.

"I _am _your mother," she says, and drops the globe to the floor.

It breaks open in a splatter of glass. Water gushes to soak through Coraline's slippers. White flecks float on the surface. The couple cracks into pieces, no longer recognizable as anything human.

* * *

They said it wouldn't hurt. The ghost children promised, the beldam promised.

_It's not supposed to hurt._

In retrospect, maybe she should hold still.

But she can't, can't help but shake and fight and scream as needle stabs into her skin, and the Other Mother is growling curses and Coraline is not going to give up that easily.

But there is no way to fight, because she's trapped.

Trapped as something is sewn in her,

and other things torn out of her,

secret, hidden parts, like every thought she's ever had, like all the air she hasn't breathed yet,

and loosing these hurts the worst.

It's dark for a while. Inside-of-your-eyelids dark, underwhelming.

And then there is color.

* * *

Oranges and blues and red, saturated enough to burn, eating into her body until her skin turns technicolor.

There are toys of bursting brightness, toys that spin in different dimensions, flying animals to play with her. She grows wings and flies in the cotton-candy clouds. Gills sketch into her skin and she dives beneath the tunnels of lakes in the garden.

Although she is always hungry, there is always plenty to eat. Cakes and candies and sweet things without names. She sleeps more than usual, too, in beds of lace and gossamer thread.

Sometimes her arms tremble with exhaustion, and her skin is pale where the colors haven't gotten to her, and sometimes she wants to scream with loneliness and she doesn't know why.

But it's beautiful here. It's all she ever wanted.

Sometimes she has nightmares of clawed fingers and dark winged things. Her mother will hold her, whispering that it will be okay. Coraline's button eyes can't close, but she can stop seeing, take a break from the colors, fall asleep in her mother's comforting arms.

* * *

**A/N:**

I don't know if I'll update this. Probably. It doesn't work as a oneshot so I feel like I have to. As a warning, I'm a total cop-out when it comes to updating things. But it's three in the morning so I'm going to bed, maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Ahahah, I thought no one was going to read this. Now I feel like I kind of have to update. Although I'm not the kind of writer to withhold updates to get reviews! Only review if you want to!

On the plus side, I know how this is going to end, if I ever get around to writing more of it. Still no promises for regular updates.

Note: This is meant to be based off the book universe, but I might borrow imagery from the film because the animation was so damn pretty.

* * *

The candles burn with too much orange and blue and green, so bright they leave spots in Coraline's vision even when she looks into the shadows.

Her mother is singing, and her father is singing, and the rats are singing, and Coraline feels like the happiest girl in the world and she doesn't even know why.

She tugs at her mother's sleeve. "What's going on?"

Her mother ruffles her hair affectionately. "Silly! I can't believe you've forgotten. It's your birthday! Now make a wish!"

Coraline approaches the table. The cake is barely visible under the mass of candles. She counts them.

"But I'm turning nine," she says.

"Go on! Make a wish!" her father says.

"I'm turning nine," she says again.

Her mother laughs, almost sincerely. "I suppose you've lost track of the time. Just enjoy your birthday!"

Coraline shrugs, holds the wish in her mind - for each day to be as much fun as the last - and blows out all fourteen candles.

* * *

The cake is delicious, soft and floating, like bubbling melted chocolate. She eats and eats and never feels sick. The rats clear away their dishes, and her mother leaves and re-enters with an armful of presents wrapped in glittery paper.

There's stage makeup from Spink and Forcible, the kind that makes you turn into whoever you're dressing up as, and then the two women put on a show, right there in the kitchen. They bounce off walls as they leap around reciting lines of _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and Coraline claps her hands together, laughing, and it is all great fun.

Her father performs a song he wrote just for, about how beautiful her black button eyes are.

Her mother heaps presents upon her. Books with moving pictures and words, humming jewelry, all of it bright and loud and colorful. The last package is wrapped in bright green paper, and fittingly, and pair of day-glo green gloves falls out when Coraline rips it open.

She picks the gloves up, testing their weight.

"I thought you said I couldn't have these," she says.

"Silly Coraline," her mother says, ruffling her hair again, her eye sockets narrowing around the buttons. "You can have whatever you want here."

Later, in her bedroom, she tries on her stage makeup (turning into a fairy, a pirate) and she hums the song her father wrote for her, and she tries on the gloves and holds her hands up appreciatively in the mirror.

Fourteen. She can't believe she's fourteen. She's still barely an inch over four feet tall. No chest, no hips. Pale skin, hollowed in cheeks. She doesn't look like a teenager.

_I look like a holocaust victim. _

She doesn't know where that thought comes from, but it doesn't go away, so she lifts up her shirt to get a good look at her ribs. Her stomach is caved in.

It doesn't make sense. She eats constantly, both healthy and indulgently. It's almost like something sucking away from her.

But all of this is so very confusing, and it hurts her head, and she feels scared for a few seconds. And she knows she's not supposed to be afraid in this world, that this world is nothing but joy and warmth, so she goes looking for her mother.

Her mother is in the garden, weaving the edges of the world into the realities of the next one. Coraline watches for a few seconds, fascinating, as strands of black twist around her mother's fingers to mix with her hair, to burst from her mouth and eyes as flickers of color, becoming real things again once beyond. She's making a maze, doubtlessly the object of tomorrow's entertainment. It towers high above Coraline's head, stone walls ostensibly gray with inner, deep hues of cobalt blue and dioxazine purple.

"Hello, Coraline," her mother says, turning with a smile that reaches all the way to her button eyes. "I thought you wanted to play by yourself."

"I did. I-" Coraline hesitates, because there are no secrets between her mother and her, because as long as she keeps her mind open the thoughts are open, because she has no hiding places inside her mind anymore.

Her mother stops her work, the splurges of color fading, and turns to pull Coraline into a tight hug.

"It's all right," she murmurs. "You'll grow, I promise."

"I know! It's just, this has to be abnormal, what is wrong with me-"

Her mother strokes her hair, and rests her forehead on Coraline's so they are staring into each other's buttons.

"You'll grow," she says, so confidently that Coraline has to believe her. "And anyway, what do you want to grow up for, anyway? Don't you want to be mother's little girl forever? Aren't you happy the way you are?"

"That's true," Coraline agrees, and she doesn't know how why she was even worried in the first place. She fits right in with this world. It was built around her size and she's never needed anything else. As long as she doesn't change, none of this will have to, either.

"Good," her mother says firmly. "Go back inside. How about you wait for me in the kitchen and we'll have a midnight snack together. Does that sound good? I just need to finish my work."

Coraline agrees again, because she knows it is the way of adults to always have work to finish, even in a perfect world like this.

The blues of the kitchen are almost overwhelming in shade. She closes her eyes to adjust before opening the refridgerator in search of milk. Everything here is so saturated. She can hardly stand it; she doesn't know how she lived without it.

She drinks straight from the carton, and even with the reassurance that she can do whatever she wants in this world, she still feels guilty. She puts the carton down and she stares at her day-glo green gloves.

And she remembers.

It collides into her, so fierce and painful it leaves her gasping. The memories cut through the fog and suddenly she's been here _years, _so long that she almost doesn't know anything else, except she does, she remembers a time before that with rainy days and parents who said no and parents wihout cruel black button eyes.

Her fingers tremble. She slumps against the counter, panting. Her mind only has a few seconds to process. Then she hears footsteps outside and knows the Other Mother will soon find her.

She sits at the kitchen table, arms crossed, for the first time truly aware of how bony her fingers and forearms are. How could the Other Mother let her get like this?

She's dying, she realizes. The Other Mother is slowly sucking the life out of her, and it's killing her.

It's all she can do to slack her hands against the table, instead of reaching up to yank at her buttons for eyes.

The Other Mother enters with an almost jaunty step, but the moment her foot crosses the doorstep she begins to move with more stealth, as if she's sensed the tension in the room. She digs around in the pantry and comes out with a bag of chips.

"Did you enjoy your party, Coraline?" the Other Mother asks.

"Yes, very much," Coraline says, struggling not to default to the reserved politeness she uses when scared. Struggling to stick to the act of a shrunken nine-year-old, relatively easy manipulate, instead of a fourteen-year-old teenager, so fucking furious it makes her fingers tremble.

She smiles and reaches her hand into the bag when offered. Beetles crawl over her fingers.

She does not show fear.

She feels the Other Mother probing at her mind, checking up on her, so she gives little hints to make it seem like she's not hiding anything. Little lies on the surface of her mind, like how beetle is her favorite snack.

The horrible thing, she knows it is, that is has been for more than five years. Maybe button-eyed things like them.

"I'm a bit tired," she admits, "but I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Are we going to play games in the maze you made?"

She pulls out a handful of saccharine-blue beetles.

"I made a labyrinth," the Other Mother says, "and yes, we will be playing games."

Disgust twists in her stomach, but she shows nothing other than a cheery child's smile. It's another contest, another competition, the Other Mother looking for some sign of rebellion and Coraline desperately trying to keep her out.

She's sure she could win this one fairly, too. But that's not enough. She'll have to cheat.

"So," she says, holding the beetles in her fist, feeling their bodies crunch into her palm. "What kind of game will it be? A finding-things game?"

The Other Mother's expression does not change, and Coraline feels another probe at her mind, but again, she gives her nothing but lies. The beetles are frantic, trying to free themselves. They are both looking at the insects clenched in her hand, now. Waiting to see if she'll really swallow them.

"I'll be chasing after you, I suppose," the Other Mother says, smiling to ease the tension. "See who can find who in the maze first."

"I suppose," Coraline says, and throws the handful of beetles into her mouth, chewing noisily. She manages not to smile at the expression on the Other Mother's face; she'd been so sure of herself, so sure she'd caught Coraline in the lie.

"But I'll win," Coraline says, and reaches for another handful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for reviews, guys! I'm sorry if I didn't answer all of them and I'm sorry I can't promise consistent updates, but I'll do my best!**

**If you want a cool song to listen to, I listened to "Year of Silence" by Crystal Castles while I wrote most of this. **

* * *

There is fear in her heart and throat and vision, but Coraline does not stop running.

Tree roots stretch above her head, giant-sized. She clambers over skyscraper piles of boulders. She does not tire. It is impossible to tire in this world while she is at play.

The Other Mother is chasing her.

It's a game, Coraline knows, and it's meant to be fun and it's not supposed to matter if she wins or lose, but

_but-_

but it's not a game, this isn't just a game to her, because her plan requires her to win-

and one of the rules is that the Other Mother _cannot find out._

She turns too fast, bangs into the wall and bruises her shoulders on brick. The strained breathing scratches her throat. Her body takes a second to rest against the wall even though her mind screams for her to run.

"I'm coming, Coraline," the Other Mother calls, and Coraline glances back to see a mess of dripping-ink limbs.

She starts running again. Her blue shoes are the only light in the otherwise dark of the maze. They illuminate the path in front of her, showing off footprints of long-ago daydreams. The light and shadows are meant to make the Labyrinth feel like an adventure, Coraline is sure.

"Coraline! I'm getting closer, Coraline!" the Other Mother laughs.

This kind of game was fun once.

The wall looms ahead of her. Dead end. She swallows and turn to face the approaching Other Mother. Her plan was to win. She won't get out of her unless she wins.

"I won!" the Other Mother says, slinking closer to her as the silken spider legs mold into thighs and twist-thin arms. "Nice try, Coraline-"

But Coraline ducks past her, sliding on her knees over the rubble, scrambling to her feet and fleeing, stumbling in the opposite direction. Blood dribbles down her legs.

The Other Mother gasps behind her. "Coraline, it's just a _game_. Don't hurt yourself!"

"Well," Coraline calls back, trying to keep her tone light and jovial, "I said I was going to win, didn't I?"

She hears the Other Mother sniff, imagines the excitement in her eyes at the smell of Coraline's blood, and maybe the Other Mother understands there is more at stake here than whether or not Coraline gets the Winner's Crown, maybe she doesn't know that Coraline is awake and real again behind her black button eyes, but regardless she comes after her.

Coraline hears rubble shift as the maze collapses behind her, as the Other Mother moves with wicked speed, but it's too late, Coraline has already caught the flash of yellow light, and she turns a corner and _there, there, there_ is the exit, and she sprints and catches the sunlight and topples free of the brick and into the smoothly oversaturated grass and collapses in a fit of fake laughter.

The Other Mother swarms to the edge of the maze, and then stops to transform back into the humanoid creature that so resembles her mother back home in the real world, except for the buttons.

"Well done, Coraline," the Other Mother says with a bit of a huff. "I guess you won after all, although I don't know why you felt the need to hurt yourself in order to do so. Why don't we go back to the house and get you bandaged up?"

"Not so fast." Coraline does spare a quick glance downward, and is relieved to see that her blood is still red and not the thick black slime. "I won, didn't I?"

She flounces to her feet, acting like the nine-year-old child she's supposed to be, sticking out her hand.

"I won," she says. "That means I get the winner's crown."

The Other Mother smiles, indulgently. "I've spoiled you, haven't I? I'm a bad mother."

Coraline grins. "Yes, you have. Now give me my crown."

The crown is a watercolor wash of yellows and blues, vibrant and blinding. Every time she wins one of their games, she gets to wear the crown for the rest of the day. It comes from the Other Mother, and it is beautiful and made of metal, and the thing is her only hope.

The Other Mother smiles and begins to twine her fingers through the air, creating patterns of golden-white. For a few seconds, Coraline is captivated. The Other Mother moves her hands with the same flicks and snaps as she does when she's creating worlds. Slowly, the metal becomes real.

The fear is back, choking her throat and weighing her limbs down. She's staring at the crown with that stupid fake smile on her face, and she wants to give in _give up_ but she can't, she can't anymore, she has to win or she'll never get home.

So she gives no indication of the fear under the surface, just holds out her hands to receive her crown. It's warm from friction and supernatural energy. She smiles again and brains the Other Mother with it.

The Other Mother staggers back, and Coraline is on her, smashing the crown into her over and over until the black sludge gushes down her face, staining the white skin. The Other Mother collapses, and she's screaming and crying and Coraline bashes her teeth in with the crown. Her wrist aches from the riccochet, but she doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate, just _reaches._

Inside that black mouth, fingers digging into flesh and scratches wherever she can, and the Other Mother grabs her, claws digging into her back and flesh-

-so Coraline hits her again and keeps grabbing, feeling around inside, and it's horribly cold and dry inside this person's body, although, although she was never real

-and the Other Mother is still screaming, and broken teeth gnash into her skin

and

and it _hurts _

and she's so afraid

but she's lost mostly everything now, lost her friends and her eyes and probably her soul and she has nothing left to hold onto so she keeps grabbing inside until her fingers close around the key.

The Other Mother screams again, and teeth bite down to the bone. Coraline rips her arm free, and screams, too, because it _hurts_.

She bashes the crown into the Other Mother's head one more time, knocking her back, and then she turns and runs.

Her Other Father is in the kitchen, and he turns to her with a smile on his face when she enters the house, calling, "Hullo, Coraline, are you hungry-" and she blows past him and towards the Door.

Her hands shake as she tries to hold the key, and it's probably a combination of the blood loss and adrenaline. She hears a slithering, scratching sound outside the house, and the panic rises until she _can't think_ but she fits the key in the lock and starts to turn it.

And suddenly there are _rats _in the room, swarming towards her and over her legs and up over her torso. She screams and tries to shake them off, but they bite deep into her skin, holding on, a whole pack, biting into her neck. She thrashes wildly, trying to throw them off and they BITE INTO HER and they WON'T GET OFF and she screams and sobs and they're singing

_We are shadows but we are starving_

_ We are starving in the dark_

_ We were here when you were weak_

_ And we will strike when you dissolve_

Their voices claw into her ears, and they bite at any exposed flesh, and now they swarm up her face and tear into her cheeks, avoiding, always avoiding, her button eyes.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees something that might have once been the Other Mother. A mess of black and white lines, scribbling closer and closer.

She forces the door open and into the tunnel beyond, slamming it shut, and the rats are are _still on her_.

She screams but keeps her head and turns the key in the lock just before a _thump _shudders the door. A rat tears open her cheek, and she feels warmth gush down her cheek. She slaps at them, sobbing, begging, but they don't leave her so she crawls wildly, feeling her way in the living, breathing, darkness, which is at least cool against her eyes after so much bright.

The door in front of her is locked. She fumbles with the key, sobbing again, but there must be a god because it turns open and she stumbles into her flat and shuts the door behind her, locking it and dropping the key to the carpet.

_And the rats are still on her_.

Singing and biting,

and she can't handle it anymore, she stands up and starts to smack at them, stomping on them with her blue shoes.

Vicious satisfaction hits her as the bones crack underneath her, as flesh bursts open and they finally, finally stop singing.

She collapses back against the wall, everything trembling. Her cuts are dripping and she probably has, like, fucking rabies or something.

But it's okay, it's all okay, because the rats are dead and the door is locked and she's back home.

She's back home.

Even though she can tell from the silence echoing through the walls that she is absolutely alone in the flat.


	4. Chapter 4

**What update what is this.**

**I'm seeing LAIKA (the animation studio that created the Coraline film) at Portland Comic Con tomorrow, so weep with envy.**

* * *

There are sheets thrown over the furniture and layers of dust on the floorboards. Natural light filters through the grime on the windows.

She walks through the hallways, still breathing heavily. Blood trickles down her face, warm over her cheekbone. Her heart pounds.

The door to their apartment is locked. She opens a window, clambers out. There's no one in the flat and there never will be, at least not for her. Her parents died five years ago, when the Other Mother shattered the snow globe.

The door to Ms. Spink and Forcible's flat is locked. She jams it open with her shoulder. Her blood smears over the wood. No one's in here, either, but she can tell it still belongs to Spink and Forcible from the posters on the wall, the stuffed dogs stacked high. Her arms won't stop shaking.

She opens the fridge, finds leftovers and milk and condiments. The microwave whines as she heats up a pan of rice.

She eats the rice straight from the pan. It's the simplest food she's eaten in years, and it fills her up the way nothing ever has before. She eats until she feels sick, until she has to sit down and put her head in her hands to breath.

The rain patters against the roof. Outside is Oregon gray. She breathes deep.

She's alive. She's free. It's okay.

The wounds have stopped bleeding, but she remembers that it was friggin _rats_ that caused these wounds, and looks around for Spink and Forcible's first-aid kit, cursing for a few minutes until she finds it under the kitchen sink.

She dabs antiseptic into the cut on her arms, wraps the worst of the wounds in gauze, and finds the bathroom mirror to treat the cuts on her face.

Drops the first-aid kit. Backs away until she runs into the hallway wall.

Stares.

Struggles to breath.

Reaches up to touch her face, run her fingers over her black button eyes.

* * *

Well.

Well.

She _knew _it couldn't be that easy, didn't she?

* * *

"It's okay," she tells herself. "It's okay. I'm still alive. I'm still free."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. The cuts on her face continue to bleed.

* * *

"Oh, my twitchy-witchy girl," she mumbles to herself as she climbs back through the window and into what used to be her family's flat.

"Oh, my twitchy-witchy girl

I think you are so nice.

I make you lots of porridge

And make you lots of ice-"

She can't remember how the rest of the song goes.

* * *

Okay. A plan. Okay. That's what she needs.

The emptiness of the apartment had gotten to her, so she'd clambered up to the rooftop, where she sits next to the chimney. The rain is less than a drizzle, but she's been sitting out here long enough that her hair is soaking wet.

Her clothes do not grow wet. She's still wearing clothes from the other world, a bright pink jacket that changes in shade depending on the temperature and a skirt that flutters like leaves. She hates them.

A plan. Okay. Okay. She can do this.

Her plan last time had been to go back to the Other World and face her fears. She laughs at the thought, a little hysterically. Like hell she's ever going back there again. She's not that brave, not anymore.

She's free and she needs to stay free.

She can't go out in public, not like this. She can find a pair of sunglasses, pretend to be blind, maybe. Steal some normal clothes from somewhere, maybe. Blend in, somehow.

And then what? She looks like a nine-year-old, and the name Coraline Jones belong to a girl who's been missing for five years and presumed dead. If she goes to the police, they'll have questions, and at some point someone will see her eyes.

Panic rises in her chest. She hugs herself, tightly, closes her eyes.

Okay. Okay. Spink and Forcible. They believe in voodoo and magic. They'd believe her story. They could help her. They'd liked her before. Maybe they'd even adopt her. They'd figure out something to do about her eyes.

She had a plan.

She breathes in deep, forces herself to relax.

Then she hears the thumping noise down in her flat.

She doesn't think logically. The part of her, the part of her that's still getting some of her memories back, connects the thumping sound with the landing of a black cat. She thinks maybe her friend's down there.

She doesn't think. She doesn't want to be alone.

She climbs back into the window, back into her flat. Another thumping sound. Her thoughts catch up with her hopes. The cat's been dead for years, too.

Thumping.

"Kitty?" she breathes out, tiptoeing through the apartment.

"Cat? You there? You?"

The noise came from the room with the door in it, and she has to know.

She looks into the room.

There's still blood on the floor, but the rat corpses are gone, along with the key.

The thumping is coming from behind the door as something hits it. Repeatedly.

"Oh, fuck," she says.

The door smashes open.

She runs.

She runs even though she knows it's hopeless. She screams even though there are only monsters to hear her.

She flees the flats. The apartments are out in the middle of woods, no help nearby. Her bare feet slap gravel. The rain has started pelting. The sound drowns out the crashing footsteps behind her. Night sinks into the earth, and she finds hope in the shadows, running into the woods around the house.

She forces herself to stop screaming. Huddles behind a tree, daring to hope a little.

"Hullo, Coraline."

The Other Mother settles into a dark shape in front of her, long, spidery fingers piercing the shadow fog. Coraline flinches back, despite herself.

This is our world, she wants to say. This is our world, this is my world. You're not allowed to be here. It's against the rules.

But she knows the Other Mother has never played fair.

"Did you really think you could escape me?" the Other Mother strokes her cheek. Coraline flinches again as the cold fingernails dig under the cuts, dragging them open, making fresh blood run down her face.

"You're mine now. I own you. You can't hide from me." The Other Mother leans in closer to Coraline, until their foreheards are almost touching. "You're my beautiful daughter, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you accept that."

"It'll never work."

The Other Mother stops, draws back. "What did you say?"

"It's never going to work," Coraline snaps out, to hide the fear. "I broke free of you - and I'll do it again. Every time you brainwash me, I'll figure out a way around it. I'm never going to be yours, and you know why that is?"

"Why don't you tell me?" the Other Mother snarls.

"Because I've won." Coraline stands. "I've won this game of ours a thousand times." She clenches her fists. "You're never going to have me, not really."

The Other Mother looks shocked for a moment, then angry. She laughs and drags a finger over Coraline's button eyes.

She won, and the Other Mother cheated, and it's not fair. She was supposed to be free.

Tears streak the blood over her cheeks. She can't help it. She stands there and lets the Other Mother stroke her, hold her close, squeezing tightly and bruising bones.

"Oh, Coraline," the Other Mother murmurs. "You cheated, too. You don't play fair either, not anymore. You're just like me. And I'm better at this sort of game."

* * *

**Will Coraline ever be free? Will she ever get her parents back, or at least, her normal eyes? Will Liz ever update again? Find out in next installment! **


End file.
